


Cocoa, Crosswords, and Cock Worship

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Series: Ineffable Kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Cock Worship, Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom/sub, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Lovers, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), blink and you'll miss it mention of Crowley's self-doubt, humbler mention, just the ramblings of an ineffable bdsm expert, possible misuse of crossword puzzles depending on what camp you fall in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26882872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: As Aziraphale and Crowley dip their toes into the kinkier side of their new relationship, they come together to create a unique morning ritual.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961338
Comments: 10
Kudos: 94





	Cocoa, Crosswords, and Cock Worship

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an older fandom one-shot of mine and written for the prompt 'cock worship'.

“O-kay, my dear boy, okay …” Aziraphale mumbles, the scritch-scritch-scritch of frantic scribbling joining the air as he jots down the solution to 14 down, then 17 across. He settles lower in his chair, legs spread, the black quill in his hand pausing, trembling, as he considers the next clue. “Mmmm … 48 across. Nurse. Five letters.”

Aziraphale does actually try to figure the answer out for himself. He’s been doing crossword puzzles on his own for decades, and in a multitude of different languages. Even distracted, he’s expert at it. But as of late, he prefers to accomplish this task - as well as most - with the help of his husband.

His blessed submissive.

It takes only a second before Crowley’s fingernail against Aziraphale’s thigh spells out the answer - five letters, two words: _s …_ _i_ _…_ _p_ _…_ _…_ _o_ _…_ _n_.

“Hmm, you’re right! Very good, my dear! Five points- _aaah!_ ” Aziraphale moans, sloppily writing the word with his right hand while the fingers of his left bury into Crowley’s fire-red tresses, urging him up and down over his cock. Aziraphale examines his crooked, wobbly handwriting, and rolls his eyes. He realizes he’s at a bit of a disadvantage writing in this position, but still he wishes he could do better. He must endeavor to improve, find a way to motivate himself. If their roles were reversed and he was evaluating Crowley’s poor handwriting, Crowley would get a spanking.

Of course, knowing Crowley, that wouldn’t improve his handwriting one inch. On the contrary, it would encourage Crowley to write less legibly.

Crowley does enjoy his spankings.

Aziraphale raises a thoughtful eyebrow.

A spanking.

That might be a nice addition to this morning ritual. Cock worship, cocoa, and a crossword puzzle are Aziraphale’s new favorite ways to start the day. But a spanking is a good idea any time.

Crowley could spank Aziraphale first, and if he does it correctly, Aziraphale will return the favor.

“44 across. Whirly--- … mmm … darling! Slow down a wee bit. We still have thirteen more to go! Whirlybird. Nine letters.”

Again, Aziraphale only has to wait a moment before Crowley writes the answer out on his thigh in sweeping letters, adding a hint of fire (not Hellfire - regular fire) so that the letters linger – _e_ _…_ _g_ _…_ _g_ _…_ _b_ _… e …_ _a … t … e … r_. Crowley doesn’t miss a beat while he writes, swiping his tongue along Aziraphale’s slit and then continuing his way down with lapping strokes.

Aziraphale doesn’t know if it’s the demon in Crowley or what remains of the angel, the side Crowley refuses to acknowledge but which Aziraphale knows lurks inside him somewhere, but it’s almost as if Crowley becomes two separate entities on his knees – one concentrating on blowing him, the other figuring out the answers. Either way, it fills Aziraphale with a never ending pride and an unquenchable desire for this all of the time.

Aziraphale is pretty sure he could spend whole days like this, naked in his husband’s throne with Crowley on his knees, sucking him off, while they burn through every crossword, word jumble, and Sudoku in every newspaper on the planet.

Crowley’s fingers thrum against Aziraphale’s thigh, and Aziraphale realizes that somewhere along the way he stopped writing.

Stopped and sank into the Heaven that is his husband’s mouth and otherworldly prehensile tongue.

Crowley is way too good at this. That mouth of his should come with some sort of warning.

Aziraphale snickers.

More than likely, as a demon, it probably does, and for multiple reasons. In fact, he thinks he recalls reading about that somewhere ...

Yes! He did! In a pamphlet he received from Heaven over a century ago entitled _The Dangers of Demons: In Whole and In Parts_. It never dawned on Aziraphale before just how much that sounds like the title of a pornographic video.

Ooo!

A pornographic video. Starring the two of them. Wouldn’t that be a thing? Didn’t Crowley’s cellular phone have a moving camera installed? The humans do that quite a bit with their cellular phones, don’t they? Record themselves in flagrante delicto.

It’s something to consider.

Aziraphale didn’t have to train Crowley how to do this to his liking. He simply knew. Knew the way he knew how Aziraphale takes his tea, the name of his favorite sushi restaurant, which movement of Vivaldi’s _Fours Seasons_ he prefers and why. Crowley cared enough to pay attention.

He cared enough to learn.

He loves Aziraphale for the bastard he is.

And he loves to serve him.

“ _Eggbeater_ makes nine more points for you, my dear. Now, 23 across,” Aziraphale almost yells before he loses his voice to another moan, knowing he’s not going to last too much longer. Before they started doing the crossword together like this, Aziraphale could finish a puzzle the size and complexity of the ones printed in the New York Times in under a minute, no angelic intervention required. But combining the crossword with Crowley’s help and this incredible blow has turned into an exercise in restraint … one that Aziraphale discovered early on he wasn’t entirely prepared for. “Bireme or trireme tool. Three letters.”

That one stumps Crowley but he doesn’t stop his worship. He doesn’t let one thing slip for the other. The strength of Crowley’s discipline, his integrity, his determination - they make Aziraphale weak.

After the Not-pocalypse, at the start of this particular branch of their relationship, Aziraphale’s morning ritual consisted of cock worship and cocoa, but he did the crossword puzzle alone.

They stumbled upon this by accident.

Aziraphale had been muttering over a clue he just couldn’t decipher, try as he might. Crowley took a chance and wrote the word on Aziraphale’s thigh (the way he’s doing now – _o … a … r_ ).

Crowley’s focus was supposed remain on his task, but he wasn’t being disobedient. Tapping on Aziraphale’s thigh with his finger is Crowley’s safe signal when he has his mouth filled with his Dom’s cock. It’s a way for them to communicate when Crowley can’t speak. And from the slightly apprehensive way he scratched out that first word, Aziraphale knew Crowley wasn’t trying to act superior. He wanted to help, in that understated way Crowley usually does where Aziraphale is concerned.

It was Crowley being Crowley, and that’s what made it so irresistible.

“Three points. E---excellent. Next clue - one charging a fl-flat rate,” Aziraphale stammers, his control slipping as he slides further down in the chair, putting all his weight onto his heels and balancing awkwardly so he doesn’t accidentally shoot the thing out from underneath his rear and across the room, slamming it into the wall opposite and shattering it into a million difficult-to-miracle-back-together-without-a-plausible excuse pieces … like he did last time. “Eight letters.”

Aziraphale feels Crowley chuckle deep in his chest. It rings up to the back of his throat as he writes the word _l_ _…_ _a_ _…_ _n_ _… d_ _… l … o … r … d._ It probably amuses him that that one is so easy for him. Or it could be because of how much he’s managed to make Aziraphale stutter.

Naughty boy.

Aziraphale logs that away. He’ll consider what he wants to do about that slice of misbehavior later.

“E-eight points done. All … all right …” Aziraphale inhales sharply as Crowley takes him completely down his throat, Aziraphale’s own throat burning, parched from panting in the dry air. “This one is … this one is a thinker. 13 down. They come …” Aziraphale whimpers, the word ‘come’ causing his stomach to coil with urgency and desperation “… they come in last. Three let---…”

Before Aziraphale can finish his sentence, Crowley has the letters written out on Aziraphale’s thigh – _X … Y … Z_ _._

The last three letters of the alphabet.

“Holy Gaaa---!” Aziraphale groans, fingers winding in Crowley’s hair, pulling hard as he comes. He curls forward in the chair when his orgasm hits, abdominal muscles contracting with a vengeance, forcing him to give over and ride the wave. “G-God! Oh … oh G-God …” He pushes his sub off his sensitive cock when he hears Crowley choke, shooing him back, silently commanding him to a spot a few feet away to kneel quietly while Aziraphale recovers. “Jesus,” he mutters, carefully tucking back into his trousers with shaking hands, “that was just … just … _exquisite_. Your mouth, my love … is such a … a gift.”

“I’m glad you enjoy my mouth, _Sir_.” Crowley smirks, running the back of his hand over his soiled lips, sounding slightly bitter even though he understood from the beginning that it was his job to be used in this capacity. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this, but it’s still relatively new to them. And even though Crowley had originally reasoned that this part of their relationship would mostly be about sex, Aziraphale’s reaction this time round hits Crowley differently. More and more he’s beginning to see just how much feelings get tangled up when they play on this field.

Strong feelings.

Deeply entrenched feelings.

Feelings he never saw himself having for anyone, even someone he loves as much as he loves Aziraphale.

“Oh, Crowley! Pet … it’s … it’s not that …” Aziraphale starts, feeling guilty that Crowley would think that’s all he wants him for, that’s all this Arrangement is about. “You’re such … such a clever demon. Always have been. So gosh darned intelligent. The brain on you … wow!”

Crowley grins at Aziraphale’s inability to speak, bashful at the corners where his lips curl into his flushed cheeks. That’s another thing that’s taken some getting used to. He was surprised to find it here, of all places. Aziraphale’s Goddamned praise. He doles it out so freely, so effortlessly.

It fools Crowley into believing he might actually deserve it.

“Thank you, Sir,” he says, sitting back on his heels as he waits to be dismissed. “I’m glad to be of service, Sir.”

Aziraphale smiles at Crowley, those words having become akin to ‘I love you’ between them. Though _glows_ is a more accurate descriptor, and not just because of that Holy Aura of his. The expression on his face is simply effervescent. But it shifts slightly - still full of love and adoration, but with one eyebrow creeping suspiciously up, one corner of Aziraphale’s mouth twisting deviously.

“However,” he adds, watching a twinge of confusion on Crowley’s lips since Aziraphale rarely follows up their morning sessions with anything but praise, “I’m beginning to think that crossword puzzles might be getting a little too easy for you.”

Crowley frowns. “Do you … do you not want to do the crossword anymore, Sir?”

“I didn’t say that,” Aziraphale says, setting the newspaper aside. “But perhaps we should add a level of difficulty. A humbler, perhaps?”

Crowley’s face pinches. “Ngk … a … a wot?” It only takes the mildest graze of Aziraphale’s mind, not deep enough to be considered an intrusion, for him to figure out what his angel is talking about, to see the Medieval-looking device in question … and know how it’s used. The twinge on Crowley’s lips suddenly can’t seem to decide between becoming a grin of anticipation or a tight, fear-steeped line as he imagines himself forced to his knees with his balls in a vice clamped behind his thighs.

Why oh why did Crowley ever let Aziraphale talk him into this Arrangement?

Crowley spies the blissful look on his angel’s face and he sighs. There wasn’t really any coercion required on Aziraphale’s part, truth be told. Crowley already had reasons - purely selfish reasons, each surrounding his own wants, his own desires, his own needs. But along with those, the joy he brings to his husband is more reward than he could ever imagine.

The real question is, when the subject came up, why oh why did he let Aziraphale talk with Madame Tracy about it? If he’d had any idea at all how much sadistic minx was hiding beneath her pink cashmere sweaters and her bottle blonde hair, he would have found a way to keep them continents apart!

“Hmmm … I’ll have to give it some thought while you clean up,” Aziraphale continues. “Go take your shower, pet. I have some important thinking to do.”

“Yes, Sir.” Crowley rises to his feet. “Thank you, Sir.” He heads slowly towards the bathroom, obviously thinking about the possibility of a humbler in his future because he walks with his knees locked and ass clenched, taking stiffer steps than usual. Aziraphale chuckles to himself, privately enjoying this conflict he’s created, which he’ll let fester for a few moments longer before he interrupts Crowley’s shower to give him his final decision.

He’ll do it, but only with Crowley’s consent. They’ve never discussed humblers before. To be frank, they remind Aziraphale of something he encountered during the dawn of the 15th century and he has to admit, he’d found them fairly tasteless then.

Times change. Humans rarely seem to.

But in the meantime, victory is his.

_Take that,_ _Anthony J Crowley!_ _Minus t_ _en points for chuckling_ _!_


End file.
